Highly Illogical
by Coquettish
Summary: Georgie Eiffel never knew in her life she was allergic to werewolves. Until the day she started fancying one. - Reviews are appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

My eyes screamed as the large oak door devoured my hair, unwilling to let go. The rest of my body began to pull itself to the opposite direction, trying its best to break free of the grasp it had, knowing fully the consequences of my actions if this failed.

I gave it one hard pull.

It did not budge.

I gave it another try.

I could feel strands of my hair forced out of my head.

"_Damn it!_" I fumed, fumbling for the doorknob, seeing if it was not locked as I supposed in the first place. It didn't turn. I swore under my breath. I was angry, hot, and limp and exhausted, the same manner I was in the hour I arrived in this – this stupid castle.

September in Hogwarts_. _Oh, _you_ know how it goes. First day of term. Stupid little First Years on their stupid little first day jitters. Gossipy Ghosts. Sorting Hats. Wands. Trolls. _Magic._

I gave the door a hard kick with my heel.

I, Georgia Louise Eiffel, hated this place.

But note; it wasn't the endless, confusing corridors diseased with talking portraits who—after asking the way to the Great Hall for the past six minutes proved futile—had a sense of direction as much as I did, or the idea that I lost my favorite book during my arguably comfortable train ride to Hogwarts, _or even_ the fact that I was staying here for a whole entire year with my Great Aunt whom I barely even know that made me want to kick someone in the shins and sob hysterically.

It's the mere fact this hellhole exists, really.

Please note that I am a full-fledged Squib and it might occur to everyone with half a brain that Squibs and magic-infested schools such as Hogwarts were never made for each other (Note: Argus Filch). Never.

And if this highly illogical circumstance does happen however, it often induces Squibs into clinical Muggle depression, which can result in an overdose of Cheering Charms prescribed by Healers which can then cause lack of self-esteem, social ineptness and a higher percentage of constipation if left untreated.

So now, I come back to the reason why I got my hair stuck to a door and why I'm illustrating my trifles for you in the first place, and the reason – oddly enough – has a name.

Poppy Pomfrey.

Aunt Poppy is my Great Aunt. I hardly know her, quite honestly – which, my Mum says, makes me a horrible niece! But I have heard lots about her. Note the fact that she has a short temper and a long tongue to go with it. Also note that there was a time when she won at a caber tossing competition at Aberdeenshire (Although I would have to confirm this yet again with Uncle Casimir, I think he was drinking too much firewhisky when he was telling me about it). Finally, please note (if this was real, your bedroom wall would probably be riddled with Post-Its by now) she makes men cry on dates.

Really, when you think about it, all Aunt Poppy needs is a beard. That is, if she already has one.

But despite all that, it didn't scare me.

…Well, all right, she completely had me at caber tossing, b—but _know_ that I am confident with her! I think she must have _some _benevolence in her heart, for she _did _agree to keep me under her wing for a year. So that must add to something. How I wish that it would add to a lot.

I sighed. I blinked back whatever it was that made my eyes blurry and tried not to think of Mum or Dad. _What was I even saying?_ They put all their money to get me here – _to keep me happy and secure_ – and all I do is complain my backside off, first thing I get here?

I paused.

"Great, now I have a guilty-slash-overemotional conscience to keep me company for the rest of the year," I said to myself, slapping my left cheek hard. I closed my eyes, trying to calm myself down. "Try and be a man for once, Eiffel."

"…Excuse me?"

My eyes snapped open at once.

A boy of the same height and possibly of the same age if you see how he held himself up so awkwardly and how his shoulders slump lower and lower with every step he took, had eyes as dark as the look he was giving me. Or possibly as dark as a black hole, because when I met his gaze, it almost felt like I was getting sucked into one. Like getting yourself in a wormhole and you get that whooshy feeling—like gliding across Saturn's rings or something—

Am I even capable of describing people without sounding like getting into an acid trip?

"O—Oh." This was apparently, the only syllable I could muster that night. I could've said a hundred million things that could have intimidated him (Note the things I could've possibly say to intimidate him: 'I know where your mother lives,', 'Squibs can magically sue you like any old Wizard can and have your backside in Wizengamot before you can say '_magical lawyers_?' or quite possibly, call on Mrs. Norris for help so it wasn't at all of any help should I even have said anything else) and wiped that look off his face! But oh no, I didn't and look where it got me.

"What are you doing here?" He clicked his tongue, looking very much annoyed as I was."Are you a student? _Why aren't you in your school robes?_"

"N—No, that's not it—I'm a niece o-of Poppy P—Pomfrey—I—" My voice dropped in a whisper, my gaze dropping to the marbled floor.

"…"

"_What?_"

"I—I'm… Stuck. My hair," I craned my head forty-five degrees to the right to show him. "_See?_"

He gave me another one of his stupid little stares. "You're _joking_."

I smiled a very nervous—_you have a wand, do something, idiot_—smile at him.

The boy looked at me for a few more seconds when: "You're _really stuck_?" He asked, the expression on his face softening. I didn't answer. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough." I said, too exhausted to say anything else. "Can you please help me out?"

He sighed, drew his wand out and gave it a little flick. The door swung open like magic (okay, it _was_), dark hair dropping limply with much relief. I beamed at him. He tried not to look flattered, and he did so, vainly.

"Thank you so much," I glowed, seizing his free hand, shaking vigorously. The corners of his mouth twitched uncomfortably.

"It's no problem," he mumbled, trying to catch the frown he was wearing moments ago. "You could use a haircut, though."

I looked at him as though he was asking me to cut off my own leg.

"I—I—mean, you know—t—tie it or something—" He stammered, the picture of embarrassment.

I laughed, parting my hair in two and tying it into pigtails. I grabbed the small suitcase next to me. "That sounds more reasonable," I smiled at him, reaching once more for his hand. He now took it, and well, shook back. "Well, thanks again, uh—"

"Severus," he supplied.

"_Severus._" I repeated. "Right. Thanks, Severus. I owe you one."

My lips cracked a small smile, my already-aching head trying to register the fact that not all Wizards are condescending air-headed prats as I made them out to be.

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**Author's Note: **Review please! Constructive criticism is most welcomed. Let me know what you think! Thanks.


	2. Chapter 2

_Not all Wizards are condescending air-headed prats as I made them out to be. _

Note that generalizations like this, are often, and very often if I may say so myself, proven otherwise.

Rather wish someone would stop generalizing generalizations as proven otherwise but then that would just prove the whole point of generalizations proven wrong and I would only be wasting a sentence on how confusing these matters can be when you think about it.

Because ten minutes after I had parted with Severus, I was actually having an arguably good time (!): I'd finally made my way to the Great Hall without getting stuck between doors, been invited by nice Sixth year Gryffindors (who seemed to be doing this due to the fact I was looking famished and haggard more than usual and well, rather needy when they approached me) when my previous generalization was proven otherwise.

Note the fact that I am taking this as calmly as any normal person can be. Also note how much my life has improved in a span of ten minutes just by simple Wizard interaction and an intervention of an oak door. And finally, please note at how Filch would feel if he ever saw me actually having a good time in the presence of Wizards.

He would be so ashamed. So. Bloody. _Ashamed_.

"You're living with old Poppy?" asked Alice, the friendly freckled Sixth year girl who invited me to sit with her, as she passed me a bowl of pudding. I nodded.

"Isn't that something," admitted Marlene, "You've got quite the confidence to even try and spare a few nights with someone like her!"

I winced and shoveled the spoon on the pudding. I swallowed hard. _It's just a year, Georgie, _I told myself, _if you can take a weekend with Uncle Casimir's firewhisky-induced anecdotes, you can take anything._

"Oh, are you training as a Healer?" trilled Dorcas Meadowes, her wide brown eyes flashing towards me. "My cousin Bethany is Head at St. Mungo's and earning experience is getting a bit difficult, if you're planning to take that kind of career. Heard people are even paying Galleons just to work at hospitals!"

I shook my head. "Well, I'm not exactly training for anything," I tried to say over their excited voices. "I—I'm her niece."

Their faces crumbled.

The air around them felt like a strange funeral party after that. Everyone seemed to give me these mournful looks and talk in a consoling tone as though I was going to die the next day or something. Surely Aunt Poppy wasn't that bad.

"_OY!_ Evans!"

I heard the red-headed girl, who had been keeping quiet and ducking her head next to me, sigh, wincing as though something rude had been served with her dinner.

"Hello Evans," came the voice again, although louder this time.

I felt a pair of hands on my shoulders roughly pulling me against Alice, making enough space for another person to sit. "Sorry love," whispered a different, deeper voice. "It's customary for my friend over there to make a fool out of himself at the first day of term."

Right on cue, came a young man zipping past to occupy the empty space, squeezing his broad shoulders against mine and the Evans girl, his gaze seeking the attention of the girl. She pursed her lips.

"Oh dear, I'm sorry you have to see this Georgie," Alice giggled, waving at someone a few seats away from us. Evans gave her a death glare. She winked at her. "It'll be fine." Alice assured her friend. "I'm going over to Frank's, he's got an extra seat. I'll see you lot later."

Before I could even register the fact that Alice had left and there was an empty seat beside me, I came face to face with a good-looking man, his long dark hair falling over his eyes, a smile scrawled across his chiseled features.

"I don't mean to be pediatric," he said, with such a romance-novel air to it I could barely believe he wasn't some sort of apparition. "But you're supposed to chew your food, love."

Normally in a normal world, boys couldn't just, you know, run their fingers through their hair very handsomely so while they talked to me in witty banters like it was all just a breeze. _Normally_, grown men would have hired professionals to teach them how to do that or they'd have a coronary or something.

Knowing no witty or funny comebacks, I said nothing and went back to stabbing the large chunk of ham on my plate, swallowing hard. The last thing I wanted was someone commenting on how I ate my ham. Especially some unreal, effortlessly handsome, _adjective-hogging_ air-headed boy like this one.

"What do you want Potter?" I heard Evans say, her words dripping against the Potter boy like sulfur. "If this is some kind of Hogsmeade invitation that involves your big fat head and Madam Puddifoot's then I have nothing to do with it."

"Oh no! Oh _heavens no!_" he said, looking scandalized. "You see, Evans, Moony here—" he craned his head around and I looked up to see who they were staring at. 'Moony' paled literally in comparison to his friends. Well, I admit, I was running out of adjectives to describe him. And I was much too exhausted to see anything else behind his tired eyes if there ever was. Though he did look more approachable than his other friends. Approachable in a sense that, if we ever decided to embark on a friendship, it would more or less be remembered with happy memories than the '_get shacked up in a broom closet_' kind his friends sitting beside me are emitting.

I do not know why I was even thinking about _getting shacked up in a broom closet._

"…So you see, Evans, after ample amounts of code-breaking charms—"

"You could barely even charm the way you _smell_—"

Potter flashed her a dazzling smile. "Hardly the point, my dear Lilykins but I think—"

I looked over my shoulder, and nearly had a heart attack. In his right hand was a tattered copy of 'The Wizard of Oz', it looked no less than a tenth edition one, judging by the cover. And then my heart started thumping faster and faster. My eyes drew to the top of the cover _wishing _that there were no initials onto it, wishing that this wouldn't result in a scene that included me trying to grab hold of it, wishing _just wishing_ I had lost it in the train, sucked into a weird black hole (there I go again, with my black hole thing) and never to be seen again. There were so many students, too many compartments, too many ways on how I could get it back but not this.

And when I saw the small sticker with an _L.E._ scribbled over it, I dropped my fork.

"—This belongs to you."

I hate confrontations.

* * *

**Author's Note: **_Do review_. Please? I think the '_reviews can make or break a writer_' generalization is probably the only generalization I know that has never been proven otherwise and a little note from you guys would practically make my day (and quite possibly the next chapter) right now. Seriously.

Again, constructive criticism is most welcomed. Let me know what you think! Thanks.

**Thanks **to heiressofanor and MauMaster for putting _Highly Illogical_ in her Story Alert! I really appreciate it!


	3. Chapter 3

In the end, I never had any chance to lash out rude things I imagined myself saying. Not that I had any guts to. I was scared. And I was being rational. Well, they had wands! I only had a good left hook. I had reach, but I've read enough about hexes to set me off running.

So I took my sweet time. There were other days to ask for it. In fact I've got a whole year. I knew not a clue what could possibly happen then but I didn't give that much thought about it that time. As long as things were at a considerable distance but near enough for me to analyze them, life was tolerable. Getting too close, however, was another story.

I could only stare and watch as they tossed around the book, the Evans girl arguing with the Potter boy in heated whispers, her eyes flashing dangerously at him. I could almost feel Potter's little ball of confidence crumble into pieces. Like nice bits of chocolate cake sprinkling all over the floor—_okay, maybe this is just starvation talking_—but he really was finding no other reason to bother her (if that was his original intention). The girl didn't care so much about the whys and wherefores on how his '_big, fat head_' came to the conclusion that the book belonged to hers apart from the rather weak notion of having the '_same, stupid initials_' as the owner's (Was it _really_ that stupid?). She just wanted him to leave her alone. And he knew.

The table shook and there was a defeated huff: I looked up to see Potter and his friends retreat. And oh, wasn't he a painful sight to watch as he tried to carry on a rather cheery mood on the other end of the Gryffindor table with his mates. I was glad to see them go albeit slightly worried to know what lies ahead of my book now that they didn't have anymore reason to lug it around as they knew it wasn't Evans'. So I chanced a look.

…What?

Was this just a pathetic reason for me to stare—I mean, _observe_ people? Well… Partly, _it was_, but I didn't want them chucking _my book _in the rubbish.

Although somehow, that adjective-hogging idiot caught my eye. Grinning. _Winking at me_. As though I was trying to catch _his _attention.

Note, that when staring at people, it's rather best that the person who you're turning your gaze onto _does not catch you doing it_. Because it may then cause misunderstandings, a high-risk you'll be labeled as someone very creepy or worse: _they think you're into them_. This can lead to occupied broom closets, horrible snogging and a chance of having nightmares concerning this for the rest of your life. So if possible, I highly recommend shades. Or if you're planning to do this in the middle of the night and you're creepy enough to get hold of one: industrial strength night-vision goggles.

I quickly looked away.

And I ended up staring at that Moony person. My eyes lit up as I saw his hands tuck the book inside his robes, still busy conversing with his fellow students to notice me—_observing_.

But then our eyes met. I could tell he knew I've been watching him for a long time. I turned back to my ham, stuffing myself with whatever else that was on my plate. Chewing. Palpitating. Slowly, my gaze slid back towards him. And he was still looking at me.

He smiled. It wasn't forced, uncomfortable or the 'will you please stop staring at me' kind of smile I often get from people who caught me staring them. It was small, warm and fleeting. That could've meant anything, of course. In fact, if I wasn't driven by fatigue and the overwhelming number of food that night, my mind would've whirred with other thoughts. _Romantic, _overemotional, hormone-drenched thoughts.

So I tried to smile back, what with my mouth stuffed with ham, and went back to finish my dinner.

I was halfway from finishing my second cheesecake when I smacked my forehead, remembering Aunt Poppy. I fetched my suitcase and left the Great Hall, not a farewell in me. It might've been my last if I even took another second dawdling in there. I took out the crumpled piece of paper in my pocket, the directions old Argus had laid out for me to get to the Hospital Wing.

I took the wide marble steps that led up to Wing, my lungs gasping for breath. An awful thought struck me once I had made it on the last step: what if Aunt Poppy never knew I was coming? What if the owl never reached her? But I never knew what the answer to that was, because before I could even turn the doorknob, the large oak door creaked open and my hand found its way against my bosom. An old man appeared by the doorway, bundled against the bitter night. By the looks of the night cap on his balding head and the pyjamas peeking out of his robes, I half-thought it was Grandpa Augie out sleepwalking again.

But his eyes were open. And I was a long way from Kent.

I screamed.

Note how fatigue can easily make me a very jumpy person. Also note that if I hadn't looked closely that night and realized it was just old Argus in his pyjamas, I might have fallen down the stairs and hollered in pain like a blithering idiot.

"What are you on about?" he barked, haunted dark eyes glinting against the moonlit backdrop.

"_Me?_" I choked out, returning fire although still out of breath. "What where you doing, prowling in the dark like that?! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

He squinted hard and gave a little shrug.

"I was just checkin' in on Pomfrey," he growled. "Thought you got lost and just went by to assure her the map I gave you was righ'."

I looked at him. "So…"

"She's in there."

"Hey Argus," I said in a whisper. "Is she… Is she _mean_?"

He said nothing. I knew what he meant.

"Then what should I say to her?"

"Nothing, if you're lucky." He pushed the door wide open and left.

It was a large room. Rows and rows of beds were on either side, draped in white linen and from what I can imagine—there were fluffy white pillows. The smell of ointment grew stronger as I ventured further inside, following the stretch of light the oil lamp was giving off. And there, as she sat behind an old-timey desk, her face silhouetted by the flicker of an oil lamp was Poppy Pomfrey. I suppose no one told her that dresses were much shorter these days for she looked like something out of a nineteen-forties film noir. She had graying hair, and looked no less than a woman in her fifties, a few strands escaping the bun on the back of her head.

Our eyes met. And the silence was deathly.

"I was wondering about that scream, thought it was that old codger," She said as I approached her, not a word nor a smile in me. You couldn't really call her a warm and cordial sort of woman. She didn't look as though she can smile if she tried. If she ever did. My hands shook under her scrutiny, the suitcase gave a little rattle and she noticed.

"What's that?"

"My clothes," I said. "Books. Old records. My radio."

Her mouth twitched. Aunt Poppy got to her feet in what looked like the first in decades and looked at me closely. "That's great." She said. "More clatter."

"Lewis sent me an owl, said you'll be arriving tonight." she plowed on, trudging off to the other side of the Wing, beckoning me to follow. I tried not to break down and cry in front of her. It was the first time I'd ever thought about my brother, Lewis. That night was so hectic, I hadn't been able to pack my things properly nor even felt an ounce of homesickness. I wondered where he was. The last time he Owled he was out in Dover working 'dangerous' missions for the Ministry, sleeping in a cot. I missed him. And I could tell Aunt Poppy was thinking about him too. Although I hardly knew her, when her gaze met mine it almost felt like we've been through everything the world can throw at us. Or maybe just Argus Filch. Or both.

"You all set?" she said suddenly, straightening herself up. Her hands pulled open the cupboards adjacent to the medicine chest, surprisingly handing me a rifle. I nearly keeled over as the thing felt like a ton and the feeling of cold steel chilled my heart. Was she serious? Did she mistake me for a boy? Had her old grey eyes looked over my pigtails, the mary janes and the Sunday dress?

"All set?" I echoed feebly.

Her head made a little jerk that meant that we were up to something. "Grab your coat. We're going out."

"_Out?_"

"Are you just going to stand there and repeat everything I say in question form, _young lady_?" she scolded, brandishing her wand as though it was some sort of sword. I swallowed. And I swallowed hard.

"B—but Aunt Poppy," I reasoned for I was tired and no less capable than going wherever she was planning to go while I handled—of all things—_a rifle_. "It's roughly midnight, w—where are we going?"

"You can handle a gun right?"

I thought Muggle objects didn't work in Hogwarts.

"It's Charmed. It shoots off rock salt; rids wandering Dark creatures off your yard if you're big of a barmcake to misplace your wand." Aunt Poppy said, reading my thoughts.

"I heard from your brother you can handle a gun." She repeated.

I gulped.

"I forget." I said, bravely so.

The next thing she did, however, was something I can never forget in my life: Aunt Poppy grabbed the rifle from my hands, shoved a clip, cocked it and with a deafening blast, she pulled the trigger. The noise shook the whole room. It almost sounded like a multitude of Stunning spells hitting straight through my heart. I swayed from where I stood. She shoved it back to me.

"You have seven rounds." She said, "Don't pop the first thing that moves. Goodness knows we can't have that."

"Aunt Poppy," I said, although this time finally coming at ease with the rifle on my hands. "What're we doing?"

"Hunting," she said, in a final sort of way.

I dared not say it, but I was getting worried. For my life. I was stuck in a castle, with an aunt whom I _barely_ even know of, shoving me a gun like we've been going through this for almost all of our lives and she was expecting me to keep myself cool when we're going out in the middle of the night, hunting with a rifle. That shoots rock salts.

"Aunt Poppy," I said, catching up to her as she left the Wing. "Hunting _what?_"

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**Author's Notes: **Fourth chapter will be up soon unless you give me a handful of reviews! Just kidding. Tell me what you think! I don't mind if it's just an 'ok cool please update'! It makes me write faster and the next chapter out sooner. So suggestions, critique and questions are most welcomed!

Oh, and if you're ever wondering: the rifle Aunt Poppy gave Georgie was an _M-1 Garand_, a .30 caliber semi-automatic rifle adopted by the U.S. Army in the 1930s (1936, I think) and a standard used by infantry men in World War II. It's got about eight rounds a clip and a real doozy. I'm pretty much smitten with guns and World War II in particular as you can see. Besides pretty dresses. And Remus Lupin. So more gun talk next chapter! Please review!

**Thanks **to _MauMaster, ThexWorld'sxAxBrokenxBone, NyA AnY, _and _Rasberry Parfait _for taking the time to review! Many thanks for _ThexWorld'sxAxBrokenxBone_ and _NyA AnY _for putting it up in their Story Alerts and _Rasberry Parfait_ for putting _Highly Illogical _on her favorites!


	4. Chapter 4

We bundled up against the frosty night as Aunt Poppy and I trooped along the fringes of the Forbidden Forest, the Hogwarts castle falling back behind us. Night wind rose and drew goosebumps across my arms. The red coat I wore fell short beneath my elbows. I heard owls swoop below us looking for mice to prey on. I heard night bugs making all sorts of noises from afar. I looked back. Farthest from the saplings came a distinct sound that I could only make out as a stray dog, giving itself away. Something scuttled across the grove, but it was too dark to see.

I fell closer to Aunt Poppy.

"Hold here," she said, drawing to a halt.

Aunt Poppy extracted an old medical bag from her olive-drab robes. She slung it aside. Taking inventory, she drew out an old-fashioned army canteen and a Luger. I couldn't put a head or a tail around it. The clip shone and glistened against her gloved hand, eyeing it carefully lest it break free from her tough grip. She tossed it to me.

"The kid's not dumb, but he doesn't know what's coming," she muttered to herself, though I knew better that she was lecturing me. "Shoot him with that clip only after you've wasted him with the rock salt. Don't fumble around with the rifle when you're handling this round. Get it through his chest because if you aren't too careful and shoot him someplace else, you're just going to make him mad, do you understand?"

I didn't. Well, there were lots of things I didn't understand back then, but this one just didn't make much sense that it gave me headaches just thinking about it.

"Aunt Poppy, what are we hunting?"

"Something larger than a rabbit and smarter than the two of us combined," was all she told me. Her chin aimed at the leafy shadows of the trees feet away from us. "Keep watch and get your aim straight, Georgia Louise."

Well, that narrows it down to Albus Dumbledore, You-Know-Who and intoxicated centaurs. I didn't want to prod Aunt Poppy about it anymore. I was getting tired asking and so was she. She wouldn't tell me if I tried again. And again. Besides, would I really want to know what we were out for in the middle of the night? I just wanted to get this over with.

Aunt Poppy pulled out from her cloak, what looked like smelly, rotting meat. She threw it on the ground. I wrinkled my nose.

"Ugh, Aunt Poppy was is that?"

She didn't answer; she was too busy unscrewing the canteen open, pouring out dark liquid on it. It smelled even worse.

"Blood." She explained, stowing the canteen back inside the medical bag, and wiping dirt off her hands. "Draws him in more. He's smart to get himself out, but I know no one that would pass up a nice big, juicy dragon steak for anything."

I would. "Dragon meat? Isn't that poisonous?"

"For humans," she said. "Don't worry so much about it, Georgia Louise, there's far more things horrible than this creature. It'll be over soon."

I tried to smile. "Well, if we're talking about Lewis…"

Her mouth held back a laugh. "Yes, well, your brother's a whole different creature that's for sure. He used to come with me hunting when he was still studying here. We weren't barmcakes enough to harm the creatures living here, if you're thinking about _that_ kind of hunting."

I was. Don't blame me, but if you could just see her Aunt Poppy was that sort of person who can kill an acromantula. With her bare hands. And actually _enjoying _it. Maybe she could just kill it with a single stare. That is, if she already hasn't killed one.

"They were mostly for potion ingredients. Medicinal potions. You know the sort."

"He brought back a handful of souvenirs when he returned every summer," I said, remembering the vial of acromantula venom he gave me. "He really was fond of it, always told me about your little adventures."

I looked at her. Her eyes were full of wistful memories but she never carried on. But when our gaze met, I knew in the back of her heart, she was missing Lewis as much as I did.

I gazed up. The pale blue moon glared against the cloudless sky. A star shone. Aunt Poppy and I stood together, remembering Lew. It felt like a perfect moment albeit the horrid smell of the rotting meat, the rifle on my hands and the blood staining our coats.

"Aunt Poppy are we gonna kill it?"

"No," she said, blinking back the nostalgia from her eyes. "We're just gonna stop its heart."

"Isn't that gonna _kill _it?"

"No, what I meant was that we're just going to paralyze it for awhile. Just enough time for us to treat the reckless bugger." She eyed me closely. "You thinking of killing it, Georgia Louise?"

Of course not. "We're going to _treat _it? I thought we were _hunting _it?

"Oh, just tell me if you see something coming all right?"

And I did.

I wish I had brought my watch, I thought. At least I would've known how long we stood there. Waiting. I took aim and squinted hard against the dark foliage of evergreens, peering out of the road for something. Nothing, I was wishing. At least, I hoped to be.

Silence lingered too long. The light from Aunt Poppy's wand grew fainter and fainter. The confidence in me beginning to extinguish.

Then I jerked up. Aunt Poppy straightened and her hand went for the Luger. It was a scream – far from a human's and too distant for us to make out. My gaze fell south of the forest. Birds were leaving their homes in the dead of the night, an untimely moment for them to do so. Evergreens swayed. Aunt Poppy and I stared. The rifle fell loose from my nervous grip. Aunt Poppy caught it, her jaw clenched.

"Take cover behind those trees; don't shoot anything that moves unless I say so." She said pushing the rifle back in my hands. I could feel her thick gloved hand lead me west where we heard the scream. I staggered behind the cloak of the large pine tree, half-swallowed by the darkness. I aimed my rifle steadily onto the dragon meat, ready to protect Aunt Poppy (though I knew she need not any protection especially _mine_) darkness on my back. But Aunt Poppy was missing. My eyes searched for her, but the grove was too dark for me to make out a shape or figure amidst the trees.

I shivered and I knew it wasn't from the cold.

I waited too long. Something had brushed against the pine trees behind me, for the leaves rustled and I felt no breeze. I spun around, my rifle aiming blindly in pitch-darkness.

"A—Aunt Poppy…?" I called. "W—Who's… Who's there?"

The moonlight found it. Whatever it was. The scream froze in my throat. I tried to pull the trigger in a frantic effort to protect myself, but my hands shook so badly I missed. Thrice. I took a step back.

It was all grey fur and snout, a timid growl escaping its large mouth. Its saliva dripped and stained my red coat. It was a wolf. A very large, very frightening, very _angry _wolf. My hand fell against my bosom, trying to rid of this painful weight on my lungs. Its glinting eyes met mine. And somehow I knew I had seen them before. But I couldn't care less at that moment.

There came a blast and it was thrown back ten feet from where it stood, hitting the tree. The ground shook as it fell. Was it Aunt Poppy? I didn't know, but I knew well that it was my cue. I bounded through the thick of the trees, scooping dirt on my shoes, and headed straight into the Forbidden Forest.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Revised it, because A) I realized the end part made no sense and just made it all confusing what the hell was after Georgie, B) Half of the chapter just begged the question and never really resolved anything. So sorry for the guys who reviewed! But hopefully this made more sense.

This was intentionally a three-thousand word chapter, but I decided it was twice as long as the preceding chapters so I split it into two parts for consistency's sake. I hope it's not too short. Or way unbalanced. Anyway, '_d'aaaaaaw_' moment from Aunt Poppy! In a sense? In canon, I always thought of her as a tough cookie to break. And I think she wouldn't simply just take Georgie to tea to get to know her more. Hunting for scary, Dark creatures in the dead of the night seemed appropriate.

Pop quiz! This chapter was vaguely inspired by one of my favorite fairytales. Can you guess what? (Clues: read closely and see what Georgie's article of clothing I keep writing about) Answer right and you'll get the chapter a day faster. And cupcakes. Or something of the like.

Hope you loved the chapter as much as I did writing it. Chapter Five will be up soon! _Do _review and tell me what you think. A single sentence can get me motivated for days. I mean it! Suggestions, critique and feedback is something I look forward to reading. Encouragements are encouraged!

**Thanks **to _ThexWorld'sxAxBrokenxBone, NyA AnY,_ _confuzed_, and _Rasberry Parfait _for taking the time to review! Your thoughts are well-appreciated. Hearts go out to _confuzed _for putting this on her _Favorite Story _and _Author Alert_. _WannaBeNinja_ is too awesome for putting _Highly Illogical _on _Story Alert_.

**It turns out I'll be posting Chapter Five on the weekends since work caught up and I'm juggling deadlines this week. **And they are very large, very frightening deadlines. I hope you guys understand!


	5. Chapter 5

I didn't know and I didn't think; I ran until my knees buckled and my feet gave out. But that never really happened; for once I had made it through a clearing, something huge crashed onto me from the opposite side, knocking the wind out of my lungs. The next thing I knew, I was laying face first on a tree stump. I felt something wet trickling behind the back of my head and I knew it wasn't water. My lip was bleeding. My hand unconsciously went for the rifle but it wasn't there anymore.

It took me awhile to distinguish my left from my right. I stood up, staggering sideways, before tripping over my own foot. Until two hands caught me by the shoulders.

The first thing I saw was just as worse as that wolf. And it wasn't Aunt Poppy.

"He—Hey aren't you that Potter boy from dinner time? That boy who was bugging that Evans girl and the prat who stole _my book?_" was supposedly what I was going to tell him but all came out in an incoherent '_Bluuuurgh_'.

He wrapped my arm around his neck, supporting my weight. I looked at him. He was dirtier, muddier and his hair messier when I last saw him and his clothes bore tears and gashes all over, depicting the air of a person who'd just tumbled down a cliff and survived. But of course, you couldn't doubt that to happen. He was a Gryffindor. That must've happened at least once in his life.

"I think you, uh, dropped this when you tried to run away from me," he said rather cheerfully given the light of things, the mouth of the rifle gleaming brightly against the moonlight as he handed it over. "I was the one who fired off that spell… Miss—uh,"

"Georgie Eiffel," I gasped.

"Right," he said, too happily it irked me. "James Potter."

"Well, Miss Eiffel, it could've gone worse," Potter said, in a voice that suggested we were just strolling out for a little hike around the woods, all dainty towards with each other. "You could've lost an arm, have your limbs ripped off or even get eaten alive—but, uh, are you sure you aren't hurt anywhere?"

"Was that—was that a _wolf?_"

He looked confused. "N—No, not exactly, Miss." he told me. "It was a werewolf. They're a severely dangerous lot, but I was _rather _certain _that _pretty grey one from before was far from dangerous."

"_Far from dangerous?_" I echoed. "If you hadn't—if you hadn't repelled it something worse might've happened to me…"

At first I didn't catch on. But then I thought it was too much of a coincidence for him to be wandering along the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night, looking far too happy for someone who has just been mauled by a werewolf.

"Is he your—_Do you know him?_"

He nodded. "Well, he's not a werewolf all the time," he explained. "He's just like you and me. He's an amiable sort, really. He's fond of studying, Muggle music, frisky women… You know, normal things."

We followed the track of prints we've left when I tried to escape from the werewolf. I squinted hard and ran a finger on the path. Blood—that I knew came from my coat—stained the tracks and it worried me. It—the _werewolf_ could've followed us all the way here… I skinned the coat right off and rid of it farthest from us as possible. I was cold right through.

The full skirt of my Sunday dress gave a little quiver when I walked. And the bobby socks weren't helping me fight the cold. I wish I wore the wool skirts I had in my trunk, but it was too late for that. I swung my rifle across the perimeter, as we crossed a small stream when Potter started laughing.

"_What?_"

"You—You look like that girl—I saw once, in that Muggle picture show!" he sputtered, every word punctuated with laughter. "We saw that once—'_Annie Hokey_'!"

"You mean Annie _Oakley_?" I asked him.

He nodded. "Ye—Yeah! That girl! With the rifle? And the pigtails?"

"It was _really _weird," he told me, as he continued to rave on about it for the past four minutes with no end in sight. "We had a Muggle Studies lesson about Muggle Western picture shows… Someone would throw a playing card in the air, and then she could put _six _holes in it before it hit the ground!"

Note the fact that I was under the impression their Muggle Studies Professor got fired after that lesson.

Also note that I could've shot him in that moment if it would've shut him up that night. Well, I did have it aimed on his pretty little face for the past minute. It wouldn't have killed him; the last round I had was just rock salt.

Noting the murderous undertone the look on my face held, he said, "I'm just glad Madam Pomfrey agreed to help me. You're, uh, you're the one with her right? I've been following you."

"So, you were the one who—"

"Yeah." He nodded, running a dirty hand through his dirtier hair. "I asked for help. The Hogwarts staff doesn't have any idea that Moony is a werewolf but Madam Pomfrey, since, well, she'd been tending him for quite awhile now and I couldn't really tell Professor Dumbledore so—"

I blinked. "Moony? He was the—You mean there's a _human being _in there?"

He nodded.

"Somewhere," was all he said. "And we've got to protect him from himself."

And then we fell silent, not a word between us. Leaves crunched and the faint cry of birds flew overhead as we trampled over broken branches and protruding tree roots. Then a curtain of evergreens suddenly rustled from our right. Potter drew out his wand. I raised a careful hand. We both drew to a stop and our gaze met. We knew, but none of us felt like saying it.

"Is that…" I finally whispered, directing the rifle towards the noise.

It was. Behind the dusky undergrowth and the underlying mist the werewolf stood, nudging back branches to keep us in clear view. He kept his distance, and we were determined to keep it that way. His large daunting figure cast shadows around him. We stood there, transfixed.

My hands dropped in my coat pocket, feeling for that shiny rifle clip Aunt Poppy gave me moments ago. It was cold on my fingers. And that Moony was about to be, if he kept on.

"Get behind me," I told him. I was no sharpshooter like Annie, but I knew I could keep it back. Even for just a few moments.

"Behind _you?_" he hissed. "What good will that do?"

"Well, I got something he doesn't know coming," I whispered. "Look, your friend's not in the right mind and I think it would be best—"

"—I'd rather take my chances."

I took a step back.

"Are you even _listening to what I'm saying?!_" I said under my breath. "We might _d—die!_"

Am _I _listening to what I was saying? I still couldn't even put my finger around what dying meant. Or how it felt. As far as I know, I wasn't ready to die. Not yet. This idiot might have nothing to live for, but I do.

He smiled; I could tell he knew I made a strong point. "Well, all right." He said, taking sweet aim with his wand from over my shoulder. "What do you suppose we do if you're feeling all heroic tonight?"

"Well," I said, "We could try running."

Another step.

"Yes, I suppose you could outrun a two-hundred pound werewolf with your pretty little mary janes."

It took me an entire minute to think this one out. The darned thing was advancing and we were stepping back like there was no tomorrow. Our breaths rose and fell. It snarled and roared at our feet, while it circled the perimeter. Waiting. Waiting for an opening. Goosebumps were starting to go across every inch of my body, and I knew it wasn't the cold anymore.

The clip shone brightly in my shaky hands, moonlight beaming against it in all directions.

"Okay, well—This clip," I told him, raising it enough for him to see. "It might stop its heart."

"_What?_" he said, after a few moments. "Stop _his heart?_"

I nodded; and everything went downhill after that. Potter suddenly turned an ugly grey and snatched the clip, shoving it in his back pocket.

"_You're going to get us killed,_" I hissed at him.

"I just told you he's my friend! I'm not going to let you kill him."

He looked at me.

"It's not... It's not going to kill him, okay? It's just going to stop it's heart. Just for a bit. You can... We can call for help later because I don't suppose help would make it right now even if they tried, _okay?_"

Potter stared at me through layers of dirt, blood and stony eyes. I wavered not.

He tossed it to me and I caught it. He didn't look so pleased but I was just glad I had it back. I pulled, cocked and had my rifle loaded and squinted anxiously at the advancing werewolf. Seconds felt like an eternity. Somehow the thought of getting a round through his chest seemed like an all impossible task to do, when there came an almighty blast from behind us.

Tree sap clung to our faces along with dirt and bugs and other things too. We stood back and stared. It was Aunt Poppy, gliding across the clearing like a restless spirit, quieter than snowfall. Her tough hand held a wand and the Luger on the other. She waved us away.

"Get her out of here," I heard her tell Potter. "Take her to the Wing and get her some pie."

I didn't talk and I didn't protest. I didn't think I could. My gaze fell towards Potter as he grabbed my wrist, beginning to travel.

"And get me some too!" she hollered. I looked back, her wand slashing through the air, a flurry of colors cascading from the tip. "I don't think I can treat this idiot if I don't eat!"

And I knew we couldn't have that.

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**Author's Notes: **So glad it's finished. I can't wait to get started on the sixth chapter! And yay! You guys got the Little Red Riding Hood answer correctly! You deserve the new chapter!

Anyway, Annie Oakley was an American markswoman and a well-known performer during the 1800s. She was born in Ohio, and began hunting at age nine, to support her siblings. When Annie was fifteen, her skill eventually paid off their mortgage on her Mother's farm.

She toured along with Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show and performed once in Europe for Queen Victoria. She was best-known for her uncanny accuracy with a rifle and was known to split playing cards thrown in the air or have six holes through a card before it hit the ground. There's a video of her in YouTube during _1894 _shot by Thomas Edison and it is all kinds of awesome. You should check it out.

**Thanks **to _confuzed, TheXWorldsXAXBrokenXBone, huffle-bibin _and _My Kind of Paradise_ for reviewing (and _confuzed _for reviewing _twice_!), _huffle-bibin, My Kind of Paradise, Jenea Cappoen_for putting _Highly Illogical _on their Story Alerts and _My Kind of Paradise, Jenea Cappoen, Akeldama_ & _Luna'sTwinMarriedToFredWeasley_ on their Favorite Stories. I REALLY, REALLY APPRECIATE IT YOU GUYS. You are too awesome, you have no idea!

Suggestions, critique and general feedback is welcomed! I'd like to know what you think! Just a sentence would be awesome. Encouragements are encouraged! I hope you watch out for the next chapter! : )


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